


Serendipity

by funnygirlthatbelle13



Series: Ninth Avenue (Modern Shopowners AU) [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Homelessness, Modern AU, Shopowners AU, mentions of drug use, questionable life choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:14:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22054639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funnygirlthatbelle13/pseuds/funnygirlthatbelle13
Summary: “the occurrence and developments by chance in a happy or beneficial way”Veth “Nott” Brenatto doesn’t think anything of the homeless man with the cat who’s taken up residence on Ninth Avenue at first. But as time goes by, she can’t help but grow to care about him.The story of how Caleb and Nott met!
Relationships: Nott the Brave & Caleb Widogast, Nott the Brave & Fjord
Series: Ninth Avenue (Modern Shopowners AU) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587421
Comments: 8
Kudos: 84





	Serendipity

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!!! So this is a part of the Modern Critical Role Shopowners AU that Blair_The_Bold and I have created together! We’re still trying to figure out how to put fics by multiple authors into the same series, so any tips would be much appreciated! But don’t worry, you can read this as a stand-alone fic first and then go read Blumenthal Books and Nott’s Knick Knacks since this technically comes first!!!!

It had been the end of May or early June when they’d first met, a picture perfect early afternoon as the spring gave way to summer. The cherry blossoms were cascading from the trees, dancing serenely in the wind. The air hung heavy with the sweet perfume of spring, a mixture of flowers and rain that infused every breath with a feeling that all was right with the world. 

It was with that feeling rising in her chest that Veth made her way down Ninth Avenue, grocery bags clasped tight in each hand. She was walking home when she noticed a man in a tattered coat sitting on a bench up ahead. He had dirty ginger hair and beard, and a cat of the same color sat on his shoulder.

Veth was wondering if she had ever seen him or the cat before when one of her bags burst, sending a can of tuna rolling. The man’s cat leapt from its place on his shoulder to chase after it. 

They had both set chase, the man snatching up his cat as she lept for the tuna. She stood up, brushing herself off and trying to listen to what he was saying to the cat, but it was so quiet that she couldn’t understand.

“Thanks,” she said. There was a moment’s hesitation before he smiled.

From then on, Veth noticed him every time she walked down Ninth Avenue. He sat on the same bench, reading the same beat up book (she managed to get a glimpse at the title once: Eintauchen in die Sprache für sozial Peinliche), wearing the same clothes every day. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what his story was; she had seen plenty of homeless people in her life. Usually, they’d be back on their feet in no time. 

But as the gentle spring turned into a true summer, the sun began to beat down more regularly. Kids and teenagers, who were usually stuck indoors, began searching for stuff to do and places to be that didn’t cost them what little money they had. Sometimes they would stop in and get some lavender lemonade from The Clay Pot, but most of the time, they were just enjoying their freedom. 

Their excitement was contagious to the rest of Ninth Avenue, which always came alive during the summer months. Sidewalk sales were a daily occurrence, and festivals happened almost every weekend. Even when there wasn’t some kind of event happening, buckets of chalk dotted the landscape of the street. Artists of all ages and talent levels took to drawing something, so the street was littered with little doodles and sketches alight with color and life.

Veth was on her way to the deli (Ninth Street Meats was having a Fourth of July sale) when she chanced a glance at the bench where the quiet, ginger man sat. For a moment, she didn’t see him and her heart skipped a beat. She had gotten used to him being there, the same way you grow accustomed to Christmas decorations in December or the voice of the crosswalk telling you to cross the street. But then she noticed the coat hung over the bench and realized that he was sitting on the ground beside it. A piece of blue chalk was in his hand, and he seemed to be drawing a fancy looking symbol that she didn’t recognize. His tongue was sticking out of the side of his mouth as he drew with one hand and stroked his cat with the other.

A small smile on her face, Veth made her way to Ninth Street Meats, which was the closest to empty she’d seen the place in weeks. But given how many empty containers under the counter, she could tell that the customers had all but cleared him out.

“Orly, can you come over here and help Officer Bryce for me?” Fjord, the butcher called from where he was filling a large plastic container full of at least a gallon of pasta salad. 

“Just a m-m-moment,” the voice of the elderly employee? Assistant? Sous chef? came from the kitchen. 

“Here you go, ma’am,” Fjord said to the elderly woman standing at the cash register, her foot tapping as she took her pasta salad, “Have a wonderful Fourth of July.”

The woman said nothing as she left, a tiny bell jingling as the door swung shut. Fjord sighed to himself for a moment before putting on a smile and turning to her.

“Hello, Veth.”

“Hello, bastard.”

Anybody else would have been offended, but Fjord grinned. He had a good sense of humor about him, and he never minded when she teased him. 

“What can I get for you, ma’am?” he asked, emphasizing the final word since he knew she hated it. Though it seemed innocuous, the shit-eating grin on his face made it clear that he was purposefully pushing her buttons.

“I’m gonna need a quart of potato salad, half a dozen of those sausages you gave me last week, a large jar of pickles-“ 

The song an ice cream going down the street interrupted her. Veth turned to look out at the Mr. Fastee’s truck rolling down the street, but instead, the man with the cat caught her eye instead. He had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, only to reveal a layer of filthy bandages underneath.

“It’s sad, isn’t it, seeing what drugs do to somebody?” Fjord asked. Veth turned to see him staring out the window as well.

“I don’t-“ 

Fjord shrugged.

“I mean, it’s sad no matter what, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“I tried to give him something to eat,” Fjord said conversationally, “Wouldn’t take it. Security camera caught him dumpster diving the next day. I’ve, uh, I’ve been trying to be inconspicuous about it, but I’ve been trying to leave stuff for him to find.” 

Veth smiled, but in her mind, she was drowning in worry and confusion. Why would someone not accept help in that kind of situation? Was he really a druggie? He didn’t seem like one to her. And why did that concept bother her as much as it did? All these thoughts and more swirled around in her head as she stared out the window at him. 

“So, the potato salad, the sausages, the pickles… anything else?” Fjord asked. Veth turned to see him staring at her from over the counter, his expression one that she hadn’t seen before, concerned.

“Yeah,” she said, shaking her head slightly, “Uh, can I also get… do you guys still have that Thanksgiving sandwich?”

“The Gobbler?” Fjord said with a smile, “Yeah, we have it. What size?” 

“The big one,” she said, smiling back at him. 

After paying for her purchases, Veth wandered down the street towards where the man with the cat sat. Once she was confident she was within his earshot, she opened up the sandwich. 

“Cranberries? I hate cranberries!” she all but shouted, “Hey, do you like cranberries?” 

His head poked out from the top of his book (a new one, a battered copy of A Wrinkle in Time) so that she could see his eyes widen as he stared at the sandwich. 

“The butcher, Fjord, fucked up my order. He’s a nice boy, you two are probably about the same age. He’s a little bigger than you, real nice hair, vitiligo, wears leather jackets and button downs, has a motorcycle? Well, it’s more of a scooter than a motorcycle, but-“ she was rambling and, if the man’s expression was any indication, he had no clue what she was saying. 

“You’re not a druggie, are you?” she asked. 

There was a brief moment before he shook his head. 

“Okay,” she said, passing him the sandwich, “Just… keep it that way, okay?” 

He nodded as he took the sandwich, and she took the opportunity to slip a twenty into his pocket. He didn’t notice.

“Have a good day,” she said, waving as she walked away. The tiniest of smiles etched itself onto his face as he waved back. He looked so young…

She walked further down the street, clutching tightly at her bag of groceries. Once she reached the bakery next door, she turned around to watch him. He was pulling slices of gravy-soaked turkey out of the sandwich, dangling it in front of him so the cat could eat it. The orange cat nibbled on the meat as the man picked at the layers of mashed potatoes and stuffing and cranberry sauce. 

Veth couldn’t help but smile. He was a good egg. And, assuming he’d been honest about not being a druggie, he’d probably be back on his feet any day now.

But the weather started to change as autumn arrived at long last. Leaves went from their standard green to a collage of reds and yellows and browns. The air had moved from brisk to truly chilly. If it were a few degrees colder, it would be at the point where taking a deep breath would hurt. 

And he was still sitting there, the coat pulled around him tightly, the cat draped over his shoulders like a scarf. It would’ve been very cute if she didn’t know that he was probably frozen to the bone. Maternal instinct overpowered her common sense, and after wrapping up in her favorite green shawl, Veth found herself wandering over to his bench.

“Hey!” she called from about ten feet away, “Do you speak English?”

He shot up as if his spirit was trying to leave its body as he looked around for who was talking to him. Shit. Eventually, his eyes landed on her, a confused expression on his face.

“Ja- I mean, yes, I do. A little,” he mumbled, and she noticed a soft accent. German, maybe? He wasn’t looking at her, but rather, he was looking directly over her left shoulder.

“Awesome, do you wanna come inside?”

Shit, that sounded super creepy.

“My son was supposed to be coming home for the weekend so I made mulled cider cuz it’s his favorite but he just texted me that his flight got canceled so now I’m stuck with all of this cider and I thought, ‘Hey, it’s pretty cold out there. Maybe that man who sits outside reading every day might like to come in for a warm drink and a break from the cold.’ But you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I mean, weird stranger randomly comes up to you and offers you a drink if you come in her house. I promise I’m not trying to kidnap you or anything,” she rambled, tapping her foot anxiously as she waited for his response. 

At first, he didn’t say anything, foot tapping as he stared inquisitively at her, but a small smile soon creeped onto his face.

“Okay,” he said. 

“Great!” she replied, probably too quickly but who cares? Veth ushered him across the street, pulling out her large ring of keys as they approached the door.

“Is this whole building yours?” he asked curiously, looking up at the three floor brick building.

“Nah, just the top floor. The other two used to be a bookstore, but the guy died a while ago.”

He nodded, his bright blue eyes dancing around as she opened the door. They entered the dusty first floor, rows upon rows of empty bookshelves lining the walls. The sunlight coming through the windows made the dust they displaced visible as it flitted about like fireflies. The man stood still, staring at all of this, but the cat, who had been following at his heels, jumped onto the counter next to the antique cash register. 

“Frumpkin!” the man scolded, his trance broken. 

“He’s fine,” she said, waving a hand in dismissal, “I never have anybody over, so it’s not like it really matters.”

She led him through the rows of empty shelves until they eventually reached the iron wrought spiral staircase at the center of the building. 

“Wow,” he whispered under his breath, fingers tracing the ornate floral railing as they climbed up. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” she said, “The guy who owned this place- Mr. Hooper, I think? He really stuck to his aesthetic.”

“I-I love it,” he said. Veth grinned as the finished climbing the stairs.

“It’s pretty cool. Come on, there’s still more.”

The second floor was not unlike the first: rows upon rows of empty, dusty shelves. The only major difference was the far corner with a worn down rocking chair. She noticed him staring at it and turned to look at the small, shabby corner.

“Yeah, I think he read stories to kids as well over there.”

He was smiling as he stared, a small, bittersweet expression that told her that he was somewhere else, in another place and time completely. She recognized that expression from when Yeza was missing his parents and their farm.

“It’s so…” he trailed off, and she could practically see the gears in his head turning, “Domestic.”

Veth couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

“Alright, Mr. Domestic, follow me.”

“My name is Caleb,” he mumbled, looking down at the floor, “Caleb Widogast.”

“Hi, Caleb,” she said barely above a whisper, a soft smile on her face, “You can call me Nott.”

Caleb’s head cocked to the side, his lips pursed slightly in confusion.

“Not what?”

“It’s an old nickname,” she explained, “When we were in middle school, my friends and I all made nicknames based on anagrams of our names, and Nott was mine.” 

Caleb nodded thoughtfully as he followed her through the shelves to three doors. Veth pulled out her ring of keys again and fumbled for a moment.

“So. Many. Fucking. Keys,” she muttered, “Ah, there we go.”

And with that, the door swung upon to reveal a flight of narrow, wooden stairs.

“Almost there,” she promised.

“Oh, it’s very dark in here,” Caleb said in a sing-songy voice a few steps in.

Instinctively, she reached behind her and grabbed his hand. It twitched upon contact, but he did not let go. She led him up the staircase, immediately turning on the lights. 

“It’s a bit messy,” she said, blushing, “I’m a bit of a hoarder.”

The living room looked sort of like an antique shop that someone happened to live in. It was hardly a small room, but the sheer amount of stuff ensured that there was little to no room to move. Mismatched furniture filled the center of the room: a floral chintz armchair, a reddish brown rocking chair, an emerald green chaise, a white wicker coffee table, a cherrywood table. A grandfather clock stood in the corner. Stacks of old books, magazines, records, and cassette tapes formed a maze of sorts in the room. Knick knacks covered every flat surface: china tea cups, tchotchkes, antique lamps, buttons, marbles, dice… the entire place was a mess of treasures long forgotten by the rest of the world.

“I love it,” Caleb whispered, his eyes as wide as his smile as he stared up at the tiny chandelier and lamps hanging from the ceiling.

She wanted to beam, but actively fought to keep her smile from getting too big. She didn’t want to scare him, not now, not when he was here and talking to her. Caleb was accepting help, even if it wasn’t much, and she couldn’t risk fucking that up for him.

“Good, now sit down. Make yourself cozy, Caleb. I’ll get you some cider.”

He awkwardly made his way around the coffee table, miraculously not knocking anything over, tracing a finger along the edge of the chaise as he moved.

“I want to see you settled in by the time I get back,” she threatened as she weaved through the living room into the kitchen. She grabbed two of her favorite mugs: a patchwork one that looked like Sally’s dress from The Nightmare Before Christmas and a VanGogh Starry Night one. Ladling cider into both of the mugs, she added a little bit of rum into the Sally mug. 

“Was denkst du?” she heard Caleb say as she approached the living room, “Sie scheint nett zu sein.” 

Veth wandered into the room only to see Caleb sitting criss cross on the floor with his cat, scratching Frumpkin behind the ear.

“You’re allowed on the furniture, you know,” she joked, “Both of you.”

Caleb frowned as he sat down on the chaise, his head bowed obediently. She handed him the VanGogh mug and sat down in the rocking chair.

“You are being very kind to me,” he said, staring at the cider, “Why?” 

She bit her lip.

“Well, I see you sitting out there all the time. And I figure it has to be… pretty lonely. And, well, my son Luc is at college in Massachusetts. And my husband travels a lot for work- he’s a very talented chemist- so he’s needed all over the world. So… I get kinda lonely too. And it’s cold out there-”

“It isn’t too cold,” he muttered, taking a sip of the cider. 

“Not yet, but when the sun goes down..” she trailed off. His head snapped around towards her, eyes wide. 

She smiled.

“Well, like I said, I’ve got a lot of extra space here. Like, as long as you promise not to kill me in my sleep, I don’t see why you can’t use Luc’s room.” 

Caleb stared at her, piercing blue eyes, not unlike Luc’s, glistening.

“I-I-I-” he stammered, “I do not have a toothbrush.”

“I’ve got plenty of extra stuff lying around. Luc and Yeza always forget things when they travel, so I have backups of everything.” 

He nodded, avoiding her eyes.

“If I… I would very much like to take a shower.” She smiled.

“I bet. Here, let me show you Luc’s room.”

“Thank you, Nott,” he whispered, and she could see tears glistening in his eyes. She covered his hand in her two smaller ones. Caleb’s mouth formed a trembling smile, and she smiled back as they just sat there.

“Alright,” she said, patting his hand and standing up, “Let me show you around.”

Grinning, she led him down the hallway to Luc’s old room. Caleb stepped tentatively into the blue and white room, tracing a finger along the white dresser. 

“I think his clothes should fit you. The bathroom is across the hall. There’s plenty of supplies in there.”

“Thank you,” Caleb whispered, “Thank you, Nott.”

She smiled, closing the door so he could be alone. Soon, he’d be looking through the dressers of basic clothing.

And, hey, Caleb didn’t know that Luc still wore clothes from the junior’s section.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed it! We’re going to try and write introduction fics for each of the characters before getting into some fun friendship shenanigans! If you liked this, please go check out Blumenthal Books and Nott’s Knick Knacks and maybe drop some kudos, bookmarks, and comments on these fics!


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